Brief Candles
By alliterator
Disclaimer: All things belong to Barbara Hall.
Joan Girardi woke up the morning of February 5th, 2066 in her bed,
in her home, in Arcadia. Opening her eyes, she took her cane from where it
leaned against the wall and slowly got up. She was seventy-nine years old;
whenever she woke up, she wondered why she wasn't dead.
Limping into the kitchen, she slowly prepared herself breakfast – she still refused to eat bran, although her doctor had suggested it to her on numerous occasions. With wrinkled fingers, she ate her toast with jam and orange juice.
After eating breakfast, she went about on her normal routine. She washed and brushed her hair – now almost entirely gray – and went about turning off all the lights. Whenever she went to bed, she always left some lights on – one for Luke, one for Kevin, and one for Mom and Dad.
And then she went outside – pulling her coat around her to protect her from the icy wind – and drove to the cemetery.
They were all buried in a row – Mom, Dad, Kevin, and Luke. And there was an empty one at the end of the row and Joan knew that was where she would be buried. Walking around the rest of the cemetery, she came across Rocky's grave and sighed. She picked up the flowers that she had placed on his grave earlier in the week – she really didn't do much except visit the cemetery and the hospital – and placed them on top of his tombstone.
Driving to the hospital, she suddenly felt a pain in her heart and she knew. At the hospital, she gazed at the still form of her last friend – the only one she had ever told her secret to.
"I'm sorry Ms. Girardi," one of the nurses said, "Mr. Rove passed away ten minutes ago."
Joan looked down at his still boyish face – now filled with cracks and creases. Why her? Why did she outlive them all?
"Because you're special, Joan." A doctor appeared at the end of Adam's deathbed. He was young and cute – Joan finally recognized him as the one that appeared to her on the bus back when she was in high school.
"I…" She tried to talk, but nothing came out.
"I know what you're thinking," God said. "I know everything, Joan."
"Please…" Joan managed to say.
"Just rest," God said. "Rest is all you need." Joan closed her heavy eyelids and placed her head on Adam's body. "You've fulfilled your nature, Joan," she heard God say. "You're complete now. You can rest."
And Joan Girardi – who resided at 2320 Euclid St, Arcadia; who was the middle child and the last living member of her family – breathed her last.